


Five More Steps and You Will Be a New Person

by hawkeward



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II, Rite of Tranquility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeward/pseuds/hawkeward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe we can find a cure,” Hawke said. “Can you cure a beheading?” Anders replied bitterly. “If I were made Tranquil, I would wish for a friend compassionate enough to kill me.”</p><p>Five conversations, and Hawke may finally be ready to bring things to a close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five More Steps and You Will Be a New Person

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the game [Every day the same dream](http://www.molleindustria.org/everydaythesamedream/everydaythesamedream.html) (tw: suicide).

v.  
“Starkhaven’s getting bolder. Say what you will about Choir-boy, but he keeps his word.”  
  
Varric lounges in the great chair in his room in the Hanged Man, holding court over a sprawling mess of maps and what seems like an army of empty tankards. Bianca rests close to hand in a chair next to him, a silent queen waiting patiently for the attention of her lord. “They want us to hand him over, so they can put him on trial for war crimes. A fancy way of saying our little prince is still out for blood, and still doesn’t want to dirty his hands.” He grimaces in contempt.  
  
Hawke keeps his eyes fixed on the map spread over the table. His fingers trace over Sundermount, along the Wounded Coast. He can feel Varric’s eyes on him.  
  
“Look, Hawke,” the dwarf says, “About Blondie—”  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says flatly.  
  
There’s a whisper of cloth as Varric shrugs. “Please yourself.”  
  
  
iv.  
“Do you still bed him, Hawke?”  
  
Isabela’s just finished telling him some ridiculous innuendo-laden tale, and he was actually laughing for the first time in what feels like weeks when she suddenly became serious.  
  
He sputters, gaping at her. “Isabela—”  
  
“I thought not,” she interrupts. Her gaze is level, almost pitying. “You’d no more bed him now than you would a corpse.”  
  
  
iii.  
“I didn’t really understand what it meant, not until I saw it happen.”  
  
They’re in Merrill’s house in the alienage, she’s pouring tea. The frame of the shattered Eluvian stands in the corner-- _a reminder,_ she told him once. “It’s not something the Dalish do.”  
  
The door opens, a child pokes his head in. “ _Hahren_  Merrill, Guardswoman Brennan is here to speak with you.”  
  
“I’ll be right there,  _da’len,”_  she says, rising from her chair.  
  
She pauses when she reaches the door. “Promise me,  _lethallin,”_  she says quietly, her back to him. “Promise if that ever happens to me, you’ll end it. Don’t leave me like him.”  
  
Hawke hesitates.  
  
She turns; her eyes are wide and serious.  _“Promise me.”_  
  
  
ii.  
“He’s your pet, as much as those strays you collect for him.”  
  
Fenris is cleaning his sword, running a polishing cloth lovingly over the blade. The light from the mansion fireplace casts his face deep into shadow, his voice is impossible to read. “More, maybe. At least the strays can leave, if they ever tire of cushions and saucers of milk.”  
  
Hawke says nothing. The silence stretches between them for a long time. It’s only when he stands to leave that Fenris speaks again.  
  
“I know what it’s like to be...  _kept,_  Hawke,” he says, laying the sword aside. “It’s a small mercy that he doesn’t realize it, anymore.”  
  
  
i.  
“I thought it was a good compromise, at the time.”  
  
Aveline nods to a pair of guardsmen as they pass. They’re walking a Hightown patrol route, checking up on her men. It’s daylight, the streets are peaceful. “He paid for his crime, we didn’t have to face killing a friend. Everyone walked away happy.”  
  
Her eyes shift toward him. “Seeing now what it’s done to you, I’m not so sure.”  
  
She stops in the shade of an archway. Hawke continues for a few steps and waits for her, running his hand absently along the wall. There’s a scar here in the cool stone, a legacy of one of Kirkwall’s many battles.  
  
“I fought for Wesley,” she says to his back. “I fought as hard as I could, and in the end, it wasn’t enough. Then I carried his shield to punish myself, so I would remember that failure and fight harder next time.”  
  
She touches his arm and gently turns him to face her. Her face is open, vulnerable and etched with concern.  
  
“When you look at him, you’re lashing yourself as viciously as I was whenever I took a blow on that shield.” She releases him, turning back to the patrol. “It’s your choice, Hawke. But one day, you’ll need to let go.”  
  
  
\---  
  
“Hello, Hawke.”  
  
Anders is there when he returns to the manor, as always. His face is serene. The brand is livid on the white skin of his brow. A cat twines around his legs, he doesn’t react.  
  
His eyes narrow in the slightest hint of puzzlement. “Why do you look at me like that?”


End file.
